The Dark at the End of the Tunnel
by HSnape
Summary: Harry has some demons to grapple with, both literally and figuratively. Eventual H/Hr
1. End Of Summer

Returning to Hogwarts always filled Harry with happiness. He had spent, as usual, a horrible summer with the Dursleys, and he could never wait until it was time to start school again. He would sit on his bed, late at night, and look out at the stars, fervently wishing upon one or more that by some stroke of luck, that he would never have to live with his horrible relatives again. So far, nothing had happened to make his wish come true. He knew he could never do magic against them, because he would be in unimaginable amounts of trouble, but he hoped against hope that someone else would break the rules and rid him of the terrible people he lived with. He frowned and returned to packing his trunk to depart to the Burrow in three days. He was surprised that the Weasleys still let him come back all these years, after what had happened with Arthur's car. He and Ron had stolen Arthur Weasley's magical car to get to Hogwarts after they'd missed the train, but they ended up crashing it into the woods. He knew that his aunt and uncle didn't honestly care about him; they just cared that he would tarnish their already unpleasant reputation by making it known that he was, well, **different** from the rest of the boys his age. They would make his life especially uncomfortable if he attempted anything magical that could be seen or heard by anyone else. 

Shrugging, he folded the last set of his dress robes and gently placed them in his trunk. The warm summer breeze blew through the window and Hedwig flew in, a note attached to her left leg. She hooted softly at Harry, gently nudging his shoulder to tell him she brought something back for him. Harry turned around and stroked Hedwig's soft head, and she stuck out her leg so he could remove the message. He did so, and unfolded the thin, creased piece of parchment. In Dumbledore's familiar spidery writing, it read: 

_ Dear Mr. Potter:   
I hope your summer holidays are going well. I apologize for disturbing you, but we have an urgent need for you at Hogwarts. I cannot go into detail right now, for fear of interception of this letter. We will expect you at Hogwarts on 17 August 2002, rather than the usual 31 August, if you decide to come.   
Thank you, and we hope to see you soon.   
Signed,   
Albus Dumbledore _ Harry frowned. 17 August was...tomorrow! He realized, an uncomfortable feeling rising in his belly. He was supposed to go to the Burrow in three days! 'Well,' he resigned himself, 'I suppose there's nothing I can do but go. If I am needed, I am needed, and I will go.' He was glad he'd begun his packing tonight. He would have to mention the change in plans to Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, but he would only say that he was leaving for Ron's early. He grimaced and closed the lid of his trunk, being sure not to lock it. He stretched out on his concrete-solid bed, arms behind his head, and stared out at the brightly shining stars through his open window. Tonight his wish differed from that of other nights. Tonight it was a matter of the heart. 

Harry had always loved a single girl in his house. Ever since he met her his first year, he had harbored a secret crush on her. Tonight, his wish centered upon her. He wished against wish, hoped against hope, that this would be the year that she realized that he existed as more than just The Boy Who Lived and an outstanding Quidditch player. Ever since their first year, he had seen her as more than her outward appearance: a bookish, seemingly anti-social girl who spent all of her free time either with her nose buried in a book or probing the depths of the extensive library. Cho, he knew, had only been a temporary diversion while this beautiful-in-every-way girl had been with an undeserving man. Now that she had seen that this man was only interested in the physical aspect of a relationship, she was ready to start anew with someone else, he expected and hoped. She, however, seemed to only have eyes for another boy. She spent more time with this boy alone than she spent together with Harry and Ron combined. However, it was little more than her personal preference, but he couldn't help his most intimate hopes and dreams, could he? He sighed and resigned himself to a dreamless sleep. 

~*~ 

He woke up to a cloudy morning. He frowned and quickly rose and dressed. He made his bed, packed his pajamas, and tromped down the stairs with his trunk. Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, and Dim bulb Dudley were sitting around the small kitchen table glaring at him. 

"Where have you been, boy?" Vernon roared, the large vein in his enormous forehead bulging. 

"Sorry, Uncle Vernon," Harry mumbled, wishing he had the courage to stand up to his family. 

"Get to work! I'm starving!" 

Harry turned the stove on full heat and began frying the bacon. He popped four pieces of bread in the toaster: one for his aunt, one for his uncle, and two for Dudley. He turned on another burner and cracked six eggs into a pan for scrambled eggs. He half-heartedly prepared and served their breakfast, and then returned to cook himself something small. He returned to the table momentarily with a bowl of oatmeal and a fresh squeezed glass of orange juice. He lifted his spoon to his mouth before he remembered that he had to leave today. 

"Uncle Vernon? Aunt Petunia?" Harry asked boldly. 

"What, you little runt?" Vernon grumbled through a mouthful of bacon. 

Harry mustered all of his courage and said, "I'm leaving for Ron's early. Meaning today. You need to take me to King's Cross after breakfast." He knew they would comply. He could threaten to do anything magical and they would do anything for him. 

"We could have used a little notice, Harry," Petunia said in her sharp, nasal voice. 

"I just found out last night," Harry retorted, struggling to keep sarcasm out of his voice. "And if you don't want anything strange to happen, I recommend you take me." This always worked. He knew they were ashamed of him, and anything, really, that he did could make Vernon lose his job or Petunia her social circle. Not that Harry cared; he just liked to hold it over their heads. 

"Okay, okay, we'll take you," Vernon said hurriedly. "Put your things in the boot and we'll be off in 20 minutes." 

Harry smiled inwardly. He quickly ate his oatmeal, washed his bowl, and trekked upstairs. He brushed his teeth and gave his room a quick glance, thankful he wouldn't be seeing it until next summer. Checking the shelves and drawers to see if he'd packed everything, he noticed that his photo album Hagrid had given him of his parents was missing. It always sat on his night table so he could look at it before he went to sleep, and it was absent from the place it normally occupied next to his snake lamp. His eyes widened and he knew he had to find it within five minutes or Uncle Vernon would leave without him. He began frantically searching his room when he heard a cough behind him. He whirled around and there stood Dudley, his huge frame filling up the entire doorway. Dudley's eyes reflected the pleasure he obviously felt at throwing Harry into a panic. 

"Are you looking for **this**, squirt?" Dudley asked with a sense of accomplishment, holding up the photo album. 

"Give that here!" Harry ordered. He reached into the pocket of his baggy pants, another of Dudley's hand-me-downs, and felt for his wand. His fingers closed around the smooth wood and he pulled it out and pointed it at Dudley. "You don't want me to use this! Remember when you were turned into a pig?" he asked crossly, expecting Dudley to hand over the album. He did not. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and Harry began muttering nonsense words, narrowing his eyes and tightening his muscles to make Dudley believe that he was actually being hexed. 

Dudley's eyes widened and he dropped the album on the floor before wedging himself out of the tiny doorway and clomping down the stairs. Harry replaced his wand, picked up the album, and smiled a small smile to himself. Another day, another battle won. He ran down the stairs to place the album in the trunk and the trunk in the boot. He saw Uncle Vernon at the foot of the stairs, tapping his shoe loudly and making a show of looking at his watch. 

"It's about time you showed up," he grumbled. 

"If your ungrateful brat of a son hadn't stolen my photo album, I would have been down sooner," Harry shot back, unable to control himself. He regretted the words, expecting the worst. He expected to be locked again in his old closet and not be allowed to go to "Ron's." Instead, Uncle Vernon just gritted his teeth and motioned for Harry to follow him out the door. 

During the ride to King's Cross, Vernon listened to talk radio. He would nod vehemently at times, and at others he would glare at the radio in obvious disagreement. Harry had to bite his lip to stifle his laughter at his uncle's theatrics. He was, for twenty more minutes, at his uncle's mercy. He didn't want anything else to go wrong. He sat quietly, crossing and uncrossing his feet, staring out the window at the shops in London. None of them looked even remotely similar to those of Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley. Harry frowned; he couldn't see himself living in the Muggle world forever, but somehow he had a sinking feeling that he might. 

"Wake up, runt!" Vernon shouted at him. "We're here!" 

Harry snapped to attention, his eyes ablaze with happiness. The station bustled with people hurrying to catch their commuter trains. 

"Get a move on, kid! Get your junk out of the boot and go!" Vernon barked, waving a pudgy hand in his direction. Harry wasted no time in hurrying out of the small car, removing his trunk and waving a hasty goodbye to his uncle. He hustled to Platform 9 ¾ and, holding his trunk tightly, ran through the brick column. He landed on the other side, and upon finding that it was deserted, boarded the train by himself. There was no Hermione or Ron or even the comfortingly hairy face of Hagrid to welcome him. Harry sighed and knew he had to owl the Weasleys to tell them that he would be unable to stay at the Burrow this summer; however, he had a feeling that they already knew, since Arthur worked for the Ministry of Magic. He set Hedwig's cage down beside him and removed the cover so he could talk to her. 

"Hedwig," he started, and then stopped. 'I feel like a fool,' he thought, irritated. 'Who am I to talk to an owl? She won't understand me!' 

Hedwig cooed at him softly, knowing something was wrong. Something was bothering Harry, and she tried to comfort him by nudging him through the bars of her cage. 

"You want out, don't you, girl?" Harry asked gently. "Promise to stay here?" She cooed again, signaling an affirmative response, and Harry unlocked the door. Hedwig gingerly climbed out and settled herself next to Harry, her head nestled in his arm. 

"Oh, Hedwig, if only she would love me the way you do," he lamented to no one in particular. "It's just…she's so smart, pretty, and funny, and I'm nothing. I'm just plain old Harold James Potter. I'm nothing special. Sure, I am the Boy Who Lived, and I have the scar to prove it, but what does that matter? She will never notice me. She will never feel for me like she does for Ron. And why should she? Ron is much more charismatic than I; he more adventurous and daring as well." He sighed, knowing this argument with himself all too well. He'd fought this battle millions of times, it seemed, and he always arrived at the same conclusion: he was lonely. Unfathomably lonely, and had been so for what seemed like forever. Living with the Dursleys had been a lonely hell, living at first in the dank, arachnid infested closet, and then in his small room, his private melancholy haven. No one knew. No one knew he'd been upset or felt lonely. He cursed people for not noticing that he'd been different over the last year, but mostly he cursed himself for being so weak. He cursed himself for not telling anyone what was wrong, and for not telling her his true feelings for her. He snorted at what she would say. 

_'Harry, I'm sorry, but I could never love you the way you want me to. I'm in love with... **someone else**._

He shook himself out of his depressing reverie and noticed that the train was reaching Hogwarts Station. He brightened a bit at the prospect of returning to school, to Gryffindor, and most of all, eventually, to her. 

"Last stop, Hogwarts Station! Everybody off!" the conductor called, even though Harry was the only passenger. He nudged Hedwig, who looked angry at being woken up, but she returned to her cage without a struggle. Harry gathered his things and exited the train, looking for a boat to take him to the school. He looked around the station and saw it was devoid of boats. He was perplexed. How was he to reach the school if the boats were all at the other side? He set his trunk down, feeling defeated. 

Suddenly he felt a large hand clap him on the shoulder. 

"Harry, m'boy!" came the cheerful voice of Hagrid. 

"Hagrid!" Harry exclaimed, whirling around to hug the half-man, half-giant who had helped him in immeasurable ways in Harry's past few years at Hogwarts. 

"Yer back 'ere now, are ye?" Hagrid asked, looking at Harry's luggage. 

"Yes, yes I am. Dumbledore owled me and said you needed my help, so here I am," Harry answered lamely. 

"Well, let's gerron, then!" Hagrid replied merrily, taking Harry's enormous trunk. 

Harry walked beside him silently, wishing he could be at the Burrow instead of at Hogwarts so early. He swung his arms at his sides, saying nothing to Hagrid. He tuned everything Hagrid said out, pondering why he'd been called to Hogwarts. Hagrid led him to a pier anchored with rowboats that he hadn't seen when he stepped off the train. He absentmindedly stepped into a rickety old rowboat and sat down in a puddle of cold water. He shivered, in spite of the scorching August sun beating down on him. His mind took him hundreds of kilometers away, losing himself in his deepest thoughts and desires. His desire, no, his need, for love and belonging, need for companionship, and most importantly, his need for safety. Being called to Hogwarts and being asked for his help all the time compromised his comfort and safety, not to mention that his friendships and grades suffered. He sighed, unaware that Hagrid was staring at him. 

"'arry? Are ye doin' alright over there?" Hagrid asked, jarring Harry from his dreamlike state. 

"What? What did you say, Hagrid?" Harry said, forcing cheer into his voice. 

"Are ye okay?" he repeated. 

"Um...yeah..." Harry returned, unsure. 

Hagrid pondered this for a moment, and then asked timidly, "Are ye sure?" 

"Well, yeah, of course I'm sure, of course I'm doing alright," he said slowly, thinking over each word that left his mouth. "Why wouldn't I be?" His tone was daring Hagrid to counter him, to show his disbelief that he was doing fine. 

This question left Hagrid stumped. "Well...well, 'arry, I dunno 'bout that. Ye jes' wasn't talkin'." 

They sat in silence the remainder of the way to Hogwarts, Hagrid rowing, Harry watching in stony silence. Momentarily they arrived. Hagrid took Harry's trunk and carried it up the many steep steps to the castle, where he left Harry and continued to Gryffindor. 

Left alone, Harry was not certain of what he was expected to do. Was he to wait for Dumbledore or McGonagall to meet him, or did they want for him to follow Hagrid to his dormitory? He looked upward and sighed. 

"I trust your holidays went well, Mr. Potter," said the smiling voice of Professor Dumbledore. 

"Oh...wonderful, thank you, Professor," Harry stammered, lowering his eyes to look at Dumbledore. "And yours?" 

"Busy as always, terrifically busy," Dumbledore replied, his icy blue eyes twinkling. "But that is not what we brought you here to discuss." Here his manner changed dramatically from amused to grave. "This is no light matter, Mr. Potter, and I do not expect you to treat it as such. Please, follow me to my office, where we will be discussing the matter at hand with Professors McGonagall and Snape." With this, he turned, his dark blue robes swirling behind him. 

Harry looked after him with dismay. Professor Snape? Surely he couldn't be serious! Harry groaned inwardly and reluctantly followed Dumbledore, not so anxiously awaiting the scene he was sure would be waiting for him in the office.

~*~ 

A/N: This has just been updated, June 10 2002... thanks to my WONDERFUL beta Heather! Thank you so much! Now, chapter two ought to be up within the next few days, so keep the anticipation up! And ROTP is nearly finished, for those of you who follow it. I hope you've enjoyed following that one; it's been a pleasure to write. Have a wonderful day and we will be presenting chapter two to you very soon! *~*Lauren*~* 


	2. Decisions

"I've brought you here, Mr. Potter, because we need your assistance," Dumbledore paused, shooting Harry a pleased glance. 

'Well, duh,' Harry thought sarcastically, keeping his facial expressions in check. He proceeded to look appropriately questioning. "Please, continue, Professor." 

"We need your help. Professors Snape, McGonagall, and I have been grappling with this issue since the end of spring term. Apparently Lord Voldemort," at this Harry shuddered, "Lord Voldemort has returned to power. At the forefront of his crusade stands Lucius Malfoy." He paused, looking about the room. Harry followed suit. He saw Professor Snape giving him one of the dirtiest looks he'd ever received from him, and Harry looked away quickly. He met the stare of Professor McGonagall, who was receiving him rather harshly as well. 'What is with this animosity?' he wondered, curious. He smiled weakly at the two of them and turned back to Dumbledore, who continued. 

"Do you have anything you'd like to put in, Mr. Potter? Or perhaps Professors?" he asked, looking at Harry first. 

"I mean no disrespect, sir, but are we honestly surprised that Lucius Malfoy is back crusading for the Dark Lord? He's done so in the past and I myself saw him in Knockturn Alley when I took a wrong turn on the Floo network from the Weasleys' house," Harry paused, knowing he shouldn't have said that. Snapes eyes shot daggers at him, and he had a note of cruel glee on his face. Snape had wanted to get Harry in trouble for something ever since the first day he'd ever been at Hogwarts. Harry hated Snape with a fiery, all-consuming passion, and he knew the feeling was mutual. Harry pursed his lips and turned back to Dumbledore, who was giving him a concerned look. 

"You were in Knockturn Alley, Harry?" he said in a fatherly tone. 

"I'd rather not talk about it, if you please," Harry said, trying to get Snape to stop looking at him like he was. 

"We need to know, Harry," Professor McGonagall interjected sternly. 

He sighed deeply, giving in to McGonagall. "I stayed at the Weasleys' home for a month last summer, and when we went to buy our books and new school supplies in Diagon Alley, they decided to travel by the Floo network because it would be the quickest. I'd never travelled by Floo powder, and I was a bit nervous. I think I stuttered or something when I entered the fireplace, because where I ended up was definitely not Diagon Alley. It was dingy, dark, and smelled of rotting cabbages and sulphur. I had landed inside a shop filled with all sorts of bizarre instruments, and soon saw Lucius and Draco Malfoy enter the same shop. I quickly hid in a cabinet, leaving the door cracked so I could see and hear what was happening. I don't remember the shop name, but Lucius was selling things to the shop owner, who put on a false appearance of liking him. When Lucius and Draco left, the shop owner was grumbling that if the rumours he'd heard were true, then Lucius hadn't sold him half of the things that were in his mansion. I left the shop without being noticed by the shopkeeper, and then I ran into Hagrid, who was looking for a Flesh-Eating Slug Repellent. He took me back to Diagon Alley, where I met up with the Weasleys and the Grangers right away," he finished, out of breath. 

Professor Snape fixed his steely glare on Harry, a glint in his eye. Harry could see that he wanted to catch him in a lie, but since he hadn't been lying, he had nothing to worry about. Harry looked away from Snape and instead looked at McGonagall. 

She had a stern look upon her face. Harry wished he hadn't looked at her after Snape. 

"For future reference, one must be careful when travelling by Floo, _Mr._ Potter," Snape said irritably. 

"Yes, sir, I am aware of that now," Harry said, struggling to keep the acid out of his voice. He barely succeeded. Snape shot him a nasty look and Harry returned it with as much venom as he had received. 

"If you please, gentlemen," McGonagall snapped. 

The two returned to the room and avoided looking at each other for the remainder of the conversation. 

"Now, we haven't any ideas yet of what we will be doing. We cannot expel Draco Malfoy from Hogwarts, or Lucius will turn his wrath on the school, which is not something we want. He is strongly against half-blood and Muggle-born witches and wizards," at this, Harry snorted inwardly, for that was a gross understatement, "and this school boasts some of the finest Muggle-borns and half-blood witches and wizards, like your friend Hermione Granger," Dumbledore said, suddenly serious. "I'm sure you recall the opening of the Chamber of Secrets?" 

Harry was suddenly chilled. Of course he remembered. Ginny Weasley had been trapped in the Chamber by her diary. Hermione had been petrified by the basilisk that lurked within. That had been one of the most difficult times of his entire Hogwarts career thus far. 

He shook off this feeling of fear and replied, rather shakily, "Yes, sir, yes I do." 

"If I may, sir," Snape cut in with an edge in his voice. 

"Go ahead, Severus." 

"While the opening of the Chamber of Secrets is quite relevant to this situation, we need not dwell on the past. Instead, we must concentrate on the task at hand. Lucius Malfoy will stop at nothing to gain a following. Acting quickly and stealthily is the only way to overcome him and his cronies. I suggest a coven, made up by myself, Minerva, you, and possibly Mr. Potter here. Studies have shown that covens are the most effective forms of white versus dark magic," he finished with an air of determination. 

"I understand that covens are highly effective in wiping out dark magic, and I myself have a part of one or two in my lifetime. However, I don't think that a coven will be the best way to effectively combat Lucius and Lord Voldemort," Dumbledore replied calmly, ignoring the fact that smoke was nearly coming out of Snape's ears, he was so angry. 

"Yes, sir," Snape replied tightly. 

"Minerva, have you any ideas?" 

"No sir, none as of yet," McGonagall replied crisply. 

"I suppose, then, we must have a break in time to brainstorm ideas of how to defeat Lord Voldemort while also keeping his followers, namely Lucius Malfoy, at bay. We will meet back here tomorrow, at 10 in the morning. Please be well rested and have ideas regarding the current situation," Dumbledore said. He smiled at them and dismissed them to go to their chambers. 

Harry left the staff room feeling more confused than ever. How was he supposed to help these wizards, all greater than he, defeat Lord Voldemort? Sure, he had done it multiple times in the past, but in his opinion, it had been sheer dumb luck! He had been helped on the last few occasions by Hermione and Ron as well, so no one could easily give him all of the credit. The only occasion which was unexplained was when Voldemort had killed his parents, and he'd been left with a simple scar. Of course, the scar was less than simple, but it paled in comparison to what had happened to Voldemort. He, as the entire population of the wizarding world knew, had been rendered useless, without powers and nearly without followers as well. He sighed and continued walking. 

When he reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, he realised that he did not know the password for the new term. 

'Damn,' he thought, 'I'll have to go to Dumbledore and ask him.' 

--- 

Ron received Harry's owl on the day he was supposed to arrive at the Burrow. 

'Dear Ron,  
I have been called to Hogwarts early, (for what I don't know) so I can't come to the Burrow and stay with you and your family. I hope you understand, and I will see you on 1 September. Tell your family and Hermione I wish I could be there.  
Harry' 

Ron scowled. He didn't want to spend the rest of the summer with just Hermione. Sure, she was a wonderful person, nice and that whole bit, but she was so overbearing and condescending sometimes. He had been looking forward to Harry's visit to soften the blow of Hermione's. 

"Ron?" the voice of Molly Weasley called up the stairs. "Ron, that was Hedwig, wasn't it?" 

"Yes, Mum, it was," Ron called back. 

"Is Harry alright?" 

"He's fine, Mum, but he can't come visit because he said Dumbledore called him back to Hogwarts early." 

"Why? 

"He doesn't know." 

"Oh. Well, come downstairs and set the table for lunch." 

Ron left the crumpled parchment on his shocking orange bedspread and slammed his door open to galumph down the stairs with a cross look on his face. He avoided the eyes of his family, slamming plates and mugs onto the table. He shoved a blue mug so hard onto the table that it shattered into thousands of pieces. Embarrassed, he pulled his wand out and performed a simple repairing charm. The pieces flew back into place and it looked like the mug had never been broken. He continued setting the table, placing silverware at each setting and then _accioed_ napkins into place. 

The family sat at the small oak table, conversing between each other. Only Ron was silent. He chewed his bread thoughtfully, unaware of the looks from his parents and brothers. 

"Ron? Earth to Ron!" George snorted at him through a glass of milk. 

"What?" Ron snapped, irritated. 

"What's up?" Fred inserted with a toothy grin. 

"Nothing. None of your business," Ron retorted angrily, and, finishing the last bite of his cheese sandwich, pushed his chair into the wall and left the table in a huff. 

Just then, there came a knock at the door. Since Ron was closest, he answered it with a scowl. Hermione stood there smiling brightly, carrying her Hogwarts trunk and two added bags. 

"Well, hello to you too, Mr. Merry Sunshine!" she giggled, stepping inside. 

Ron nodded curtly and ushered her upstairs, where she stashed her things in Ginny's room. They moved on to Ron's room, where he proceeded to show her the hastily scribbled note from Harry. Her eyes widened, but then she gave Ron one of her patented looks. 

"Ron, you know he would be here if he possibly could," she said knowingly. He knew she was correct, but didn't want to admit it. "Stop being such a baby, Ron. You're seventeen years old; stop acting like you're ten! Harry is a very powerful force in the wizarding world and thus he is called upon for help when a strong natural wizard is needed. He also possesses a lot of common sense, and he has the ability to see things many others wouldn't. He was the one to realise that the opening to the Chamber of Secrets was in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. He figured out how to become the possessor of the Sorcerer's Stone to thwart Quirrell and Voldemort! Give him a break, Ron; I'm sure he would change everything if he could. He'll need us now more than ever, and if we desert him, something horrible might happen. So please, Ron, spare us all and get rid of your pride. Gather up the courtesy and friendship to owl him back; I'm sure he's dreadfully bored at the castle with no one but the professors to keep him company. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going downstairs to greet your family and have a bit of lunch. I'm famished." With that, she turned around and whirled down the stairs in her familiar Gryffindor robes. 

Ron felt a bit sheepish at how angry he'd been with Harry. All along, he'd known that it wasn't Harry's fault, nor should he be upset with Harry. And, of course, Hermione had been right. As usual. Gods, he hated it when she showed him up, which happened a lot. Another reason why she irritated him, added to the list. However, he was still hungry, so he followed her path downstairs and rejoined the family, this time in peace. 

--- 

Harry arrived at Dumbledore's office, breathless from running the entire way. He wanted to get to his dormitory and scratch out notes to Ron and Hermione, apologizing again for his absence at the Burrow. 

Realising that he also didn't know the password for Dumbledore's office, he stood outside and knocked loudly. He called out for him to answer the door, and, momentarily, the gargoyle moved aside and there stood Professor Dumbledore, regal in every way. 

"Your password, Mr. Potter, is _francophone_. I trust that was all you required?" Dumbledore inquired with a kindly smile. 

"Yes, sir, thank you very much," Harry replied, and turned to go back to Gryffindor. 

"You will find, Mr. Potter, that your things have already been brought to your dormitory. Supper shall be held at 6:00 in the Great Hall. You are invited to join the staff, or you may order something from the house-elves to be brought to your dormitory. Whichever you choose, have a nice afternoon, and I will, at least, see you in the morning." With that, Dumbledore disappeared into the confines of his office, leaving Harry only to return to Gryffindor. 

When he reached his house, he greeted the Fat Lady again with a smile and this time, the password, and she swung open to let him through. He climbed through with a bit of difficulty; he'd grown a little bit over the summer and had to hunch over more than before to be able to fit through the portrait hole. 

He climbed the stairs and crossed into the boys' dormitories, entering the door which now had "Sixth Years" posted above it. He didn't want to be alone here. He had been alone all summer and now wanted someone with whom he could converse and have fun. This was partially the reason that he'd been looking forward to visiting the Burrow all summer; Ron and Hermione were what had kept him sane these past six weeks, sending him letters and gifts by owl and telephoning him once or twice. Ron had finally gotten the hang of using the telephone, and he no longer screamed or mentioned the fact that he was from Hogwarts. Harry had told Hermione and Ron when his family would be gone so they could talk freely, and he loved hearing their voices. It made him ache inside when he heard either of them speak. Every time he spoke to them, he wished he could be with them. Instead, he had been stuck with his aunt, uncle and disgusting cousin. 

He groaned and sat down on his four-poster. He pulled out his school bag from his trunk and grabbed a piece of parchment and a spare quill. 

'Dear Ron and Hermione,' he wrote in his neat hand, 'I am now here at Hogwarts, so please send your owls here. It's dreadfully boring here, since I'm the only student present now, and I have to deal with _**Snape**_ every day! I'm dreading it more than double Potions with the Slytherins. I wish I could be at the Burrow with you two; it would be a lot more fun than staying here and having meetings with Snape, McGonagall and Dumbledore all day every day for two weeks. I hope you're both having fun; keep me posted on the things you're doing and please keep in touch until you leave for Hogwarts. I can't wait to see you both in two weeks! Love, Harry.' 

He sighed. He knew Ron wouldn't appreciate having to deal with Hermione all by himself. He found her to be a bit too much sometimes, with her bossiness and her know-it-all attitude. Harry always laughed at Ron when he complained about Hermione; he knew how Ron felt but didn't share his feelings. Harry twisted his mouth into a pensive position and closed his eyes. Sleep seemed like the best option to him right now, but he knew also that if he fell asleep, he wouldn't wake in time for dinner. Instead, he would wake in the middle of the night and be famished, and would be unable to eat until breakfast. He decided against sleeping. 

He stood up from the bed so as not to tempt him to sleep, and moved to the foot of the bed to unpack his trunk. He hung his robes and Muggle clothing in the enormous cherry wood armoire, which he had always shared with Seamus, Dean, Neville and Ron, with his clothes taking up only a small fraction of the space. His two pairs of worn-out shoes went under his bed; his black shoes to go with his robes, and his sneakers, which had once belonged to Dudley (like nearly everything else he owned), for the weekend visits to Hogsmeade both sat barely under the maroon comforter of his four-poster. His school supplies went on the shelf below his nightstand, and his current book for pleasure reading, Flying with the Cannons, rested on the top shelf. (Though he'd read it at least ten times, it still remained one of his favourite mindless reads.) 

When he finished unpacking, he shoved his trunk under his bed, knowing he wouldn't open it until June, when he'd finished with his exams. He checked his watch and saw that he still had two hours until dinner in the Great Hall. He decided to read his schoolbooks, starting, naturally, with Potions: he knew Snape would be harder on him this year since he'd had two extra weeks to prepare for classes. 

The book bored him almost to the point of sleep. He found his eyelids drooping more than once in the course of his reading, and when he found himself dozing off, he closed the book and stood up. He stretched his arms high above himself and yawned a huge yawn. He paced the room, trying to gain more energy to read, but decided to forgo studying and peruse Flying with the Cannons. He sat again on his bed, opening the book and watching the players fly around the arena. He half-smiled. Ron had given him this book four years ago; the Chudley Cannons were his favourite Quidditch team. When Harry had first met Ron, Ron had asked him what his Quidditch team was, and Harry recalled being completely bewildered. He'd not yet known what Quidditch was, and the sensory overload he'd been facing from being accepted at, and learning about, Hogwarts, was almost enough to make his head spin. 

Harry looked back on these years with unmistakeable fondness: meeting people who became his friends, learning magic and playing Quidditch had been his pastimes. 'This year would be different,' he thought ruefully, 'very different.' Preparations for his N.E.W.Ts, dealing with Voldemort and Lucius Malfoy, trying to get a certain girl to notice him in a way he'd always wanted her to... He sighed, knowing things would be tremendously difficult for him this year. 

He pushed these depressing thoughts from his mind and checked the time: nearly six. He replaced his books on his nightstand, laced up his worn-out tennis shoes (too big for him, which was not unusual) and left his dormitory for the Great Hall and supper with the professors. 

_A/N: First off, I'd like to say thanks to my wonderful beta Heather. Good job!!! : Secondly, I know that it's been quite some time since I've updated this story, and the reason behind that is because I've been trying to finish off RoTP. It's nearly finished; really, it is! Only one more chapter to go. _

On a vaguely relevant side note, I was at Blockbuster today, perusing the movie merchandise, when I saw Harry Potter action figures. I laughed at first, because I saw two Harry/Quidditch figures, and then I looked behind those and…I saw a Sev action figure. I about died. If I'd had money, I would have bought it. He looked gooooood! 

Finally, though, I'd like to thank all of you for reading this. It means a lot to me when I sign on and see that I have new reviews. I appreciate every minute of your time that you spend reading this, and I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it. Please tell me what you do and don't like, and what you'd like to see. Have a wonderful, wonderful day, and enjoy the sunshine! --L-- 


	3. In the Middle

Dinner in the Great Hall was uneventful. Harry munched on his warm Shepard's pie, paying close attention to the conversations of the professors around him. 

"The Mandrakes are nearly ready for re-potting!" Professor Sprout said gleefully to Snape, who shot her a sidelong glance and a curt nod indicating that he heard her. He then fixed his cruel glare on Harry, shooting daggers with his eyes. Harry quickly looked back down into his plate and concentrated, hard, on eating. 

"Ireland beat Bulgaria in the first match of the Quidditch World Cup yesterday!" Madam Hooch exclaimed to Professor Flitwick, who, despite his lack of knowledge on the subject of Quidditch, asked Madam Hooch what the score had been and if she could tell him about the good plays. Harry observed that, while his classes were difficult and sometimes tiresome, Flitwick was an excellent conversationalist. 

He turned away from this conversation; he was quickly bored of Madam Hooch discussing the ins and outs of the Ireland/Bulgaria Quidditch match, even though he loved playing Quidditch with all his heart. Instead, he focused in on the conversation being held between Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall. 

"Honestly, Albus, I mean no disrespect, but I don't believe that it was appropriate for us to call Lily and James' son here to help us. He is only a sixth-year student, thus not making him a fully educated wizard. While he is the son of two of the most wonderful witches and wizards to pass through the gates of Hogwarts, I do not see how he can be a great deal of help to us," McGonagall stated, slightly irritated. 

"Minerva," Dumbledore began in his usual calm voice. "Minerva, Harry Potter is one of the strongest natural wizards of our time. He has defeated Lord Voldemort in many of his incarnations at many different points in his short life. Harry is one of the only wizards who can truly mystify Voldemort, and for that we need him, at the very least. As we all well know, Voldemort transferred some of his powers to Harry when he tried to kill him as a child, thus making him even stronger. He is our secret weapon, per se, Minerva." 

"I just do not see how this...this...**child** can be of any use to our crusade except as a decoy!" 

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows but said nothing. McGonagall's mouth dropped nearly to the table and she shook her head. 

"Surely you can't be serious! He is only a child! To use him as a decoy for Lord Voldemort would be gross negligence on our part!" 

"The thought never crossed my mind, Minerva." At this part, Dumbledore lowered his voice so Harry had to strain to hear him. "When Voldemort first attempted to kill Harry, he transferred some of his powers to him. As you know, Voldemort's powers have only been used for evil. If young Harry is left to grow on his own, he could become the next Voldemort, which could devastate the wizarding world, as well you know. He is most likely more powerful than Voldemort, although neither Voldemort nor Harry would willingly admit it. I believe that this could keep Harry fighting for our side. If we lost him to the Dark Side, there would be nothing we could do to save the wizarding world. It would be another dark era. I presume you do not need reminding of the last one?" 

McGonagall had become ashen-faced at Dumbledore's reasoning and she nodded to show that she understood and agreed. From there, the conversation turned to the Sorting and which new students would be coming this year. Harry didn't care; he only wanted to think about what Dumbledore had said. 

He quickly washed down the last few bites of his Shepard's pie with the rest of his cool pumpkin juice and politely excused himself from the Great Hall to go back to his dormitory. 

He walked quickly through the corridor, running into Nearly Headless Nick on the way. 

"Harry Potter!" Nick said gleefully. "How were your holidays? They went well, I trust?" 

Harry smiled and nodded at Nick. Nick had always been his favorite of the Hogwarts ghosts, and not just because he was the Gryffindor ghost. Nick had saved him from almost certain doom with Filch, and he had gone so far to invite Harry, Hermione and Ron to his 500th Deathday Party, which, in all honesty, they had all found a bit creepy, but went to appease Nick. 

"My holidays were great, thank you, Sir Nicholas," he replied. "And how were yours?" 

"I still cannot be accepted into the Headless Hunt, no matter how hard I try! It has been a very upsetting summer, what with the uprising of the Dark Side, and the Headless Hunt on the side, and I shall be happier than a clam when it is over and the Dark Lord has been defeated," Nick replied in a somber tone. 

Harry nodded his agreement and told Nick that he ought to be going; he wanted to read a little bit and then take a bath before he went to bed. This was only partly true. He waved a hasty goodbye to Nick and continued hurrying to the portrait of the Fat Lady. 

"Francophone!" he said to her, and she swung open to let him through. He sped up the stairs and began drawing a hot bath. No one used the bathtub in the sixth-year boys' dormitories during the school terms, but when Harry stayed at Hogwarts over holidays, he enjoyed taking warm baths and thinking things over. Tonight was a wonderful night for a hot bath. The water steamed up the mirror in the bathroom, who in turn said, "Dear, if you'd leave me steamed up, please. I'd like to take a short sleep." Harry obliged the mirror. 

He undressed and sat down slowly in the hot water. It felt like his skin was scorching, and he jumped out of the bath quickly. He grabbed his wand from his pockets and performed a Cooling charm to make the water a comfortable temperature. He sat down again, this time without burning himself, and closed his eyes. 

_'If young Harry is left to grow on his own, he could become the next Voldemort, which could devastate the wizarding world, as well you know. He is most likely more powerful than Voldemort, although neither Voldemort nor Harry would willingly admit it. I believe that this could keep Harry fighting for our side. If we lost him to the Dark Side, there would be nothing we could do to save the wizarding world. It would be another dark era.'_

Dumbledore's words were ringing in Harry's ears. Could he really become the next Voldemort? Was he really that powerful? He didn't believe it. He wasn't even the best student in his class; that was Hermione, by far. Besides, Voldemort was evil. He had no desire to kill anyone, ever! And while he may have some of Voldemort's powers, like the ability to speak to snakes, he never wanted to use them for malicious purposes. 

Harry sighed, disbelieving what Dumbledore had said. He didn't think he was smart enough to become the next Dark Lord, even if he'd wanted to. But maybe intelligence wasn't an issue. As Professor Quirrell had said to him when he was searching for the Sorcerer's Stone, "There is only power, and those too weak to seek it." 'Hmm,' he thought. Power had never been something he'd desired, and neither had the popularity that he'd immediately gained upon arriving at Hogwarts. He sighed again. He was well-known, and if anything went wrong with him, it would be well-known through the entire wizarding world. He didn't want anyone to know about the details of his private life, though he was sure that for the most part, everyone already did. 

Groaning, he opened his eyes and leaned back upon the soft back of the claw-footed tub. He just wanted to relax these last two weeks of summer, and what did he get? He had to go to Hogwarts and help in the fight against Voldemort and Lucius Malfoy. He narrowed his eyes and glared at the faucet. He wondered whether Draco would be on his father's side or not. Probably he would be talking things up but not doing anything, as usual. He rolled his eyes and looked at his fingers. They were as shriveled as prunes. He decided it was about time that he finished bathing and go to bed. After all, he'd spent nearly three hours in the tub, he was amazed to realize, and the water hadn't cooled a bit. 

He stepped out of the tub and wrapped a towel around his waist. He wiped off the mirror, who yawned and asked him sleepily, "Did you have a nice bath, dear?" Harry nodded into the mirror and went out into his dormitory to dress. He took his flannel pajamas out of the drawer of his nightstand and pulled them on, suddenly exhausted. He turned the covers down on his bed and climbed in, dragging the warm comforter up to his chest. Pointing his wand at the lamp on the table, he turned it off and closed his eyes. 

However hard he tried, Harry could not sleep. He had too much on his mind to be able to sleep. What Dumbledore had said was driving him nearly to the brink of insanity. Could he truly become the next Voldemort? He was almost frightened by that prospect. 

But, his mind nagged at him, you were almost sorted into Slytherin. You can't forget that. 

Truthfully, he wished he could. When the Chamber of Secrets had been opened, this fact had been particularly troubling to him. Now that he knew that people believed that he could become the next Lord Voldemort, the disturbing truth resurfaced. 

You know it's possible, his mind continued. The Sorting Hat wouldn't have had such a difficult time if it didn't know that you were capable of great things. Possibly terrible, but great. You know you were offered a chance to join Voldemort's side, with the highest unimaginable price of death to the good side of the wizarding world, and you almost took it. You almost took it under the selfish consideration that you might finally get to meet your parents and live somewhere other than with the Dursleys. You almost jeopardized the entire wizarding world because of your selfishness. 

'But I've never truly known my parents,' he argued, determined to make himself believe that he would never have considered taking Voldemort up on his offer. 'I would never do something so positively stupid!' He glared into the darkness, upset with his brain. 'I wouldn't even think of doing something like that!' He knew that he was lying to himself, because he, in fact, had considered taking Voldemort's offer, until he realized what would happen to the rest of the wizarding world. 

Harry remembered what Dumbledore told him once, when he was brooding over whether the Sorting Hat had placed him in the wrong house. "It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities." 

Another deep, dark corner of his mind wondered what it might be like to be the Dark Lord. People bowing to you, having more servants than he could count, making people live in fear... Some things seemed rather formidable, while others were frightening. He sighed deeply, trying to push this thought out of his mind. He didn't want to become a Dark Wizard; he didn't even want to think about it! 

He forced himself to think of something else. Hermione and Ron, think of Hermione and Ron, he ordered himself. They were probably having loads of fun off at the Burrow, practicing Quidditch and flying, working on spells, and spending time with all of the Weasley children. They would probably be going to Diagon Alley soon; Harry hoped he would be able to join them, because he still needed his school supplies. He would ask Dumbledore tomorrow, he decided. 

Tomorrow, he yawned to himself. Tomorrow, I need to have some ideas on how to fight Voldemort. I don't know! He protested. I'm only a student. McGonagall was right; I shouldn't have come to Hogwarts to help them. How _could_ I help them? He frowned into his pillow and opened his eyes, looking about the dormitory, hoping for even the slightest idea. 

His eye caught on his Invisibility Cloak, hung in the corner of the armoire. Maybe a late-night stroll around the castle would soothe his mind. He hoped. 

--- 

Ron and Hermione were having the same difficulties sleeping. Ron was worried about Harry's safety at the castle; he didn't think it was right that Harry, who was only sixteen, had to help the professors to defeat Voldemort. He knew, though, that Hogwarts was one of the safest places for Harry at this time, because the only wizard that Voldemort truly feared was Dumbledore. He closed his eyes and this time, fell into a deeply troubled sleep. 

Hermione, in Ginny's room, was tossing and turning in a light sleep. She, too, was worried about Harry, but for different reasons than Ron. She had always felt a bit of a maternal instinct when she was around Harry; since he'd lost his mother at such a young age and had never had much guidance while he grew up, and now she was feeling extra protective of him, now that he was probably in mortal danger yet again. She sighed in her sleep and rolled towards the wall. Curling up in the fetal position, she began to dream. 

_In her dream, Hermione saw Harry standing in the middle of the Gryffindor common room, hands held to the sky. He had a malicious look painted upon his face and he was chanting something strange. She couldn't quite understand it; he was too far away for her to hear it correctly. Something materialized in front of him and he took it greedily, drinking from a goblet sitting on the table next to him. He had a wild, crazed look in his eyes and for the first time in her life, Hermione was genuinely afraid of Harry. Just the look in his eyes was enough to turn anyone into a puddle of fear. She saw an incarnation of Lord Voldemort appear in front of him and she gasped. _

Hermione shook herself awake, sweating buckets. She hoped nothing like that would happen while Harry was the only student at Hogwarts. She knew, deep in her heart of hearts, that nothing could, since Dumbledore was there and he could protect Harry, but still she worried. Harry was vulnerable. He was called upon whenever there was a mishap in the Dark World, so he could save the rest of the wizarding world. She also knew that most of the time, he wanted to go. He felt it was his obligation, as the Boy Who Lived. He wanted to help people. He could never work for Voldemort, she told herself firmly. Never in his entire life would he do something so stupid. Harry wasn't so selfish. 

Only somewhat convinced, Hermione shut her eyes again, hoping for a dreamless sleep. 

--- 

Harry walked about the castle, taking in all of the sights that he'd known ever since he'd been a first-year. The castle was more welcoming at night, with less harsh lighting and loud talking in the halls to disturb Harry's thought processes. He held his lantern in front of him, breathing softly so as not to catch the attention of any professors who might be prowling the halls. He walked past the classrooms and down towards the area of Dumbledore's office. He paused there for a moment, looking at the gargoyle which guarded Dumbledore's private living quarters. He'd only been in the office as many times as he could count on one hand, but he always remembered every single detail of the office. He remembered the Pensieve, his phoenix, Fawkes, and where the Sorting Hat sat on a stool in the back corner of the room. He sighed and moved on. The only times he'd been in Dumbledore's office was when Voldemort had been terrorizing the school. He expected he would be spending much more time in there during this school year than he ever had in his entire life. He turned around, walking back towards the classrooms. Professor Snape had materialized outside of his Potions room; he was walking directly toward Harry. Harry held his breath and flattened himself against the wall. If he thought Snape was surly during the day, he didn't want to find out what he was like at night when he wasn't supposed to be out of bed. He held his hand over his mouth and didn't move until he was sure Snape was long out of hearing distance. He waited with bated breath, watching Snape go slowly down the corridor, looking a bit shifty. 

Harry let out a whoosh of breath once Snape had rounded a corner and he could no longer see him. He closed his eyes in relief and decided now would be a good time for him to return to his dormitory. Besides, now he was tired, and he thought he could fall asleep as soon as his head would hit his pillow. He scurried up the stairs to whisper the password to the Fat Lady, and threw the Invisibility Cloak off as soon as he got through the portrait hole. He breathed a sigh of relief and walked up the stairs to his dormitory. Once there, he collapsed into his bed and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. 

--- 

The next morning, Harry awoke to a beautiful sunny day. He pulled some clothes on and yanked his robes on over them. He brushed his teeth and then walked down to the Great Hall for a quick breakfast before he met with the teachers to discuss what they were to do. 

He ate a hurried breakfast of scrambled eggs and hash browns, washing it all down with a freshly squeezed glass of pulpy orange juice. He felt like Professor Snape was glaring at him while he ate, as if he knew that Harry had been out of bed the night before and he was itching to catch him. Harry yawned a great yawn unconsciously and rubbed his eyes from lack of sleep. Looking up, he saw the murderous glare from Snape piercing into his skull and quickly looked back down. He shoveled his food down his throat and excused himself from the table to go to the staff room to think of ways to combat Lucius Malfoy and Voldemort. 

--- 

He strode quickly down the hall to the staff room and opened the door. He sighed a great sigh of relief when he saw that no one was in there. He took a soft armchair next to the fire and closed his eyes to think. 

The only idea he could come up with was rather uninspired, in his mind. He thought that sheer force and violence against Lucius and Voldemort would be the best idea, because it was what had worked in his experience. He had beaten Voldemort and Quirrell, Tom Riddle, and a swarm of Death Eaters with Voldemort. He didn't see why the tried and true method wouldn't work. He sighed and allowed the fire to lull him into a comfortable state between awake and asleep. 

He soon dozed off into a sleep so deep that he didn't hear the professors when they entered the room. 

"Harry," Dumbledore said gently, nudging him on the shoulder. "Harry, wake up. We have important things to discuss." 

Harry turned over and mumbled, "In a minute, Aunt Petunia," yawning greatly. He opened his eyes and found that it, indeed, was _not_ his Aunt Petunia who was shaking him awake; it was Headmaster Dumbledore. He flushed a deep crimson and apologized to the professors. 

"Please join us at the table, Harry," Professor McGonagall instructed him, pointing at a seat next to Snape. Harry slowly got up from the armchair and pulled the chair out next to Professor Snape, whose cold stare he could feel through his light sweater. 

"Now, we have many things to discuss this morning. I hope you all brought ideas?" Dumbledore asked cheerfully. There was a simultaneous nodding of heads within the small group, and he continued. "We will have one lunch break at noon, with another short break around 3 to stretch our legs. If you need to do anything, I recommend you do it now." 

It was going to be a long day... 

--- 

A/N: Sorry about the delay; as most of you know, ff.net was being a pain in the rear. Chapter 4 will delve deeper into the meeting and other things I do not wish to divulge right now... ;) Starting next Friday, July 5, I'll be gone for a month, so I'm trying to get chapters 4 and 5 out before I leave. Hopefully I'll be able to do it... I hope you enjoyed chapter 3, and, as usual, R&R me.. *~*Lauren*~* 


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